


Lilies & Perfume

by Miss_Vile



Series: Nygmobblepot One Shots [25]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, I don't know how to make that more clear, M/M, MTF Sex, Oral Sex, POV First Person, The Riddler is a woman in this, Trans Female Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27520162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Vile/pseuds/Miss_Vile
Summary: "Dear, this is Gotham,” as Oswald is keen to remind me. No one really cares if you strut down the street in a leather bondage suit and ten-inch heels or a glittery green suit that reflects like a disco ball in the sun. Oswald assures me that no one cares and that, even if they did, they don’t matter. We’re both too powerful for it to matter.  He’s always encouraged me to be myself, no matter who that person may be. Yet it’s still hard for me even if I pretend that it’s not. Nearly two decades of “Don’t dress like that” and “Stop being such a freak” and “Boys don’t wear dresses” being drilled into your ears is hard to unlearn.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: Nygmobblepot One Shots [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1396144
Comments: 33
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone decides that this is the place to berate me or call me problematic in the comments, be aware that I wrote this for me. Not you. This is about _my_ experience, not yours. I have already heard your arguments about gb and specifically about the idea of Riddler being a trans woman, and they simply do not apply here. If this fic makes you feel dysphoric, stop reading. Simple. If you feel the need to further misunderstand why I wrote this and comment on it, save yourself the effort.

I'm staring at my reflection. Or... at least some semblance of it. I've never really had a good relationship with mirrors so half of the time it’s hard to tell what’s me and what isn’t.

My hair is starting to curl around my ears. Two stubborn ringlets lay on my cheeks like tiny crescent moons along my cheekbones. Normally, I would cut them. Make them square, more… _presentable_ and masculine. Maybe if I leave them Ozzie won’t notice?

While we’re at it, maybe he wouldn’t notice a little highlighter or mascara? Oswald wears it, surely it wouldn’t be a problem? Of course, it dawns on me the moment I open the palette of assorted powders and creams that I have no idea what I’m doing. Ask me to slap on a mustache and stake out Gotham Central Bank and I wouldn’t have a problem. Hell, I can even disguise myself as an old Polish woman and pry information out of an absurdly drunk Victor Zsasz, but ask me to accentuate my features in a way that’s flattering and I get utterly lost.

I add a little bit of brown (called _Legacy,_ which seems needlessly fanciful for some overpriced pigment) to my lids and blink away the excess powder. Some of it clings to my eyelashes and, when I make the mistake of blinking, it lands directly into my eyes. What doesn’t end up in my eyes or the tears welling up in them falls onto my cheeks which then turns to mud whenever I try to wipe it away. After a few moments of rubbing at my cheeks with a wet rag, my skin is raw and I can’t help but think I look worse than when I started.

Eyeliner is probably outside my area of expertise. As amusing as it would be for Oswald and I to have matching monocles, I think it’s best if one of us maintains our depth perception. So, I opt to use a bit of mascara and pray that I don’t end up looking like those spider-eyed Televangelists I grew up watching on TV. 

I sigh at the reflection in front of me— not too masculine or feminine in either direction. It’s closer to how I’ve been presenting myself more recently. _“Dear, this is Gotham,”_ as Oswald is keen to remind me. No one really cares if you strut down the street in a leather bondage suit and ten-inch heels or a glittery green suit that reflects like a disco ball in the sun. Oswald assures me that no one cares and that, even if they did, they don’t matter. We’re both too _powerful_ for it to matter. He’s always encouraged me to be myself, no matter who that person may be. Yet it’s still hard for me even if I pretend that it’s not. Nearly two decades of “Don’t dress like that” and “Stop being such a freak” and “Boys don’t wear dresses” being drilled into your ears is hard to unlearn.

This will have to do for now. And, if Oswald decides that he prefers me a different way, I suppose I could play it off as a joke. He’ll roll his eyes, scoff at my antics, and we’ll continue to live our lives as we are. I’ve lived a lie thus far, what’s a lifetime?

Oswald prefers coming and going in his signature limo. Me, I much prefer having my own independence that doesn’t require me to rely on a driver. A few months into our renewed friendship and the steady pace we set for ourselves getting into a relationship, Oswald gifted me the 1958 Ferrari in the most atrocious shade of emerald green. It was perfect.

Even now as I turn on the engine and glide my hands across the leather interior, I’m still in awe of how well that man takes care of me. There is no rhyme or reason to why he can still put up with me after all this time and everything we’ve done to one another. He’s sacrificed so much for me— his money and time, his revenge on Sofia Falcone, his eye— I just hope he doesn’t hate me after I tell him what it is I need to tell him…

I pull up at the entrance and toss the keys to the valet. I nod towards the bouncer and smile at the guests all waiting at the front door as I pass. Several of them turn towards their friends and whisper about how exciting it is to catch a glimpse of _The Riddler_ at the door. That was why they all came, of course. The Iceberg Lounge was known for its very specific clientele and every Gothamite came from around the city to sneak a peek at who was inside.

Oswald is dashing as ever— that petulant pout of his lip and fierce snarl affixed to the sharp edges of his smile are among his most attractive qualities. I’m not sure which expression is my favorite, this one or the one he wears in bed.

He looks up from his work and smiles at me. It makes my heart flutter just like it has since the first moment I realized I was in love with him— with Penn’s blood splattered all over his face and that ridiculous, dark-humor.

I slide into the booth beside him and I’m glad he’s giving orders to the waitress right now so he can’t see my face. How am I supposed to sit again? I shift uncomfortably in my seat and run my fingers through my hair. Oswald sees the gesture and I can hear the slight click of his tongue when he catches a glimpse. It reminds me of the day he forced my head under a cold faucet during No Man’s Land and insisted on cleaning my hair and cutting it for me.

The waitress brings us the usual assortment of drinks: A Penguin— the Lounge’s signature cocktail— a Midori Sour with a bowl of green maraschino cherries, and a row of Patrón shots. Based on the addition of the shots, Oswald was expecting us to be there all night.

He’s wearing the tie I got him, the one with rhinestones in a swirling pattern that resemble question marks. He wears that one often.

Finally, he turns his attention to me and trails his fingers over the scalloped pattern on my shirt, reminiscent of umbrellas. I see the little quirk in his brow he always gets right before he kisses me and I can’t help but flutter my lashes at him.

“Are you wearing makeup?” he asks.

“Oh…” I bite my lip, “I didn’t think you’d notice.” My heart is pounding in my chest and that damned voice at the back of my head is so _loud._ “Um, does it look bad?”

“You look sublime,” he lifts my chin with a single finger and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, “It’s subtle. Is that what you were going for? I always imagined you going bolder.”

My cheeks fill up with warmth as I duck away, “I was just testing. I didn’t want to get too adventurous.”

“Uh-huh,” he smirks. He digs into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a tube of tinted lip gloss. “Come here,” he says, lifting my chin once more.

He applies the gloss and smiles at his accomplishment before pointing toward the reflective surface of the table. I glance down and see the shiny maroon tinting my lips and try not to be overwhelmed.

“It’s a good look on you,” he says.

Without hesitation, I lean forward and capture his mouth with my own. We both relish the warmth and the pressure there before I pull away, the faintest hint of pigment and sheen transferred to his own lips.

“It looks better on you,” I tell him.

“We just have to find your color,” he teases, lightly flicking the end of my nose. I try not to wince.

We’ve fallen into a rhythm with each other and are _(hopefully)_ happy. It’s been five years since the battle for Gotham at the barricade. Five years since he saved my life from that grenade. Five years since I threw my arms around him and kissed him stupid in that library.

I’ve finished my Midori and most of the shots before I’ve finally settled my nerves. Admittedly, I drank them too fast. I also neglected to eat again which is still an awful habit I have, especially lately. My nervousness, even now, is still buzzing in my chest and making it hard to breathe.

Perhaps it’s the excessive alcohol or the stinging of makeup in my eyes or maybe it’s this stupid jacket that’s too hot and makes me feel like a box that has me throwing away my plans of waiting until we get home to have this conversation. Before I have the wherewithal to stop myself, the words fall out.

“Do you love me?” I ask.

“What kind of question is that, Eddie?” he scoffs as he brings the obnoxious purple liquid to his lips.

“I need to hear you say it,” I say as I crush a cherry between my teeth.

“Of course I love you,” Oswald says, his brow cinched in concern. He sets the glass on the table.

“No matter what?” I feel myself shaking.

“Ed, what’s happened,” he reaches out and holds my hand. His fingers feel so unbearably cold next to my feverish skin.

“Nothing,” I lie with a smile before stuffing four more cherries into my mouth.

“Well, that’s a damn lie,” he snorts, unamused by my attempt to dissuade him. “Talk to me.”

I can feel my smile fall, like there are two weights attached to fishing lines notched to the corners of my mouth. I can feel the tears building up under my eyes, but I don’t want Oswald to see. I can’t afford for him to see how weak I really am. I shrug my shoulders before tucking my head under his chin. He wraps his arms around me protectively, which does make me feel a little better, but it doesn’t remove the ache and the fear. In fact, it makes it worse.

“Eddie, sweetheart, please tell me what’s wrong,” he whispers, kissing the crown of my head.

“I’m afraid I’ll lose you,” I choke out. My throat and my chest tighten as I hold back the impulse to sob. The Riddler doesn’t _cry._ What the hell is wrong with me?

“After all we’ve been through?”

I look up at him and I must appear truly dreadful because Oswald stops breathing the moment he sees my face.

“Ed, please. You’re scaring me.”

The words die in my throat. I should just tell him… but I’m too scared. Why is this so difficult?

“Edward, there is nothing you can say or be or _do_ that will make me love you any less,” he wipes an unbidden tear from my eye, “I promise you that.”

That was enough to break the dam. I refuse to make a sound but I can feel the tears fall down my face. I’m grateful Ozzie is wearing a black suit instead of his purple one.

“You don’t have to tell me until you’re ready,” he tells me.

And it’s enough.

* * *

I creep out of bed in the morning and hope that my side of the bed being cold doesn’t worry him. It’s never been unusual for me to wake before him. He always was a night owl, even back at my apartment on Grundy. I never minded. I certainly enjoyed the company and he always made me and my hair-brained ideas feel valued. No one, until him, had ever given me that.

The soft morning light pours in through the windows. I exhale a plume of cigarette smoke with a sigh. I don’t smoke often, only ever when I am particularly stressed. Hopefully, Oswald won’t mind. I’m lost in thought when I hear him clear his throat in the doorway and I look up at the clock, seeing that it is already a quarter past ten. I had meant to get started on breakfast more than an hour ago.

“Oh! Oswald, I’m sorry. I… uh… I must’ve lost track of time,” I rub the strain from my eyes, “I’ll get started on breakfast—”

I still the moment Oswald wraps his hands around my own. I look up and hitch my breath at Oswald’s clear expression. The open and vulnerable _love_ there makes my heart ache all over again.

“There is no rush,” he says, “I’m just happy you’re still here.”

“You thought I left?” I ask, mildly heartbroken that he would think such a thing. Though, I do admit that running away from my problems does seem like the easier option.

“When I awoke… the bed was cold,” he frowns, “After last night, I was worried.”

“I’m sorry I worried you,” I tell him, guilt seeping into my bones. I look down at our hands and prepare myself for the inevitably of the conversation. “This is… very difficult for me, Oswald.”

“Are you leaving me?” Oswald asks, his heart already looking like it shattered.

“No,” I squeeze his hands and wait for him to finally inhale, “...but you might leave me.”

Oswald rolls his eyes, “I already told you that I love you no matter what! Now, stop this and _tell me.”_

“I know you love me. But, after today, you might not want to _be_ with me.”

“Ed, dammit, _stop_ trying to make decisions for me,“ he glares, “What is it? Are you cheating on me?”

“What? No!”

“Then what else IS THERE?” he yells.

“I’m… UGH…” I pull at my frustratingly short hair, “I’m not making decisions for you. I just—”

“—No. _You_ are assuming the _worst._ I can assure you that whatever it is, you will continue to be the man that I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Except I don't think I'm a man at all!” I blurt out. Oops.

“What?” Oswald tilts his head and stares. I give him a moment for his thoughts to catch up to him, the gears turning slowly as he processes my words. Two beats and his eyes widen, “Oh!”

Oswald pulls his hands away and that’s it. My heart officially shatters as all of my fears are confirmed by the lack of contact. Tears fill my eyes, blurring my vision. I should have just kept my damn mouth shut. Everything was perfect. Oswald _loved_ me. Even after everything. We were both finally happy and thriving and I just couldn’t leave well enough alone. I couldn’t just be happy for what I had. I needed more. I needed to—

Warmth envelops me and I can’t breathe. Oswald’s arms are so securely wrapped around me and it feels so, so cruel. But I can’t bring myself to hate him. Not after everything he’s done for me. This is all my fault. It’s all going to end here because I just couldn’t allow myself to be happy.

“Come sit with me,” Oswald stands, holding my hand and guiding me over to the sofa near the fireplace.

He holds my face in his hands, but I can’t bear to look him in the eye, “Did you really think I would stop loving you just because you were a woman?”

“Well... yes? It seems illogical to just be hopeful that you would still find me attractive after something like that.”

“There you go again. Overthinking,” he pokes my forehead with a firm press of his finger, “I don't care about any of that, Ed— oh...um, what should I...?”

“Ed is fine,” I chuckle, still nervous. “For now, at least.”

“It really doesn't bother me,” he reassures me.

“It might not now, but give it time. I'm sure you'll never want to be with me when the time comes.”

“You are making a _lot_ of assumptions, my dear. And I don't appreciate it,” his eyes narrow.

I open my mouth to speak but, for once, I have no words. The shock of it all still has me rattled.

“I cannot predict the future but I can tell you that, as of right now, I am not the slightest bit repulsed by the idea,” he presses a kiss to my temple, “I'm in love with _you._ Nothing else matters.”

“It might, though. You don't know. And not knowing is what scares me,” I confess.

“Sweetheart, I can assure you that I will still want to wake up beside you every morning,” he kisses me again, this time at the corner of my quivering mouth, “I want what you want. I want you to be true to yourself and I won't have you any other way.”

After a moment of shared crying, Oswald speaks again, “How long have you known?”

I sigh, “I always thought of myself as somewhere in-between. Never openly, of course. I never even had a word for it before I discussed it with Dr. Quinzel.”

“I'm sorry I hadn't noticed,” he sinks.

“Ozzie, It's fine,” I reassure him, caressing his face with the palm of my hand, “I didn't exactly _present_ myself in a way where you might have noticed. Especially when I was your Chief of Staff... I wasn't exactly sure how to present myself as powerful in a way that wasn't overly masculine. I didn't want to look weak.”

Oswald clicked his tongue, “My dear, this is Gotham. I would have gutted _anyone_ who said anything and I wouldn't have thought you were weak.”

“In hindsight... I know that. But, at the time, I was anxious and just... overcompensated, I guess? Same goes for whenever I was dating women. I thought they wouldn't want me unless I was masculine so I presented myself that way.”

“And you also thought I wouldn't want you?”

I swallow the lump in my throat and manage to nod my head in affirmation.

“What can I do to make this easier for you? I mean, I can think of a million different things I can do in the future but what can I do right now?”

“You are already doing more than I expected,” I tell him.

“Do you really think so little of me?”

“No! I just...”

“Shh.... It's alright,” he strokes my hair, “After all that we have been through together, this is _not_ going to tear us apart. I promise you. Please, trust me.”

“Okay.”

“You haven't really answered my question,” he runs his thumb along my cheekbone, “What can I do for you right now?”

“I honestly hadn't thought this far. I'm at a loss.”

“You, with all your planning and schemes, hadn’t thought this far?” he quirks an eyebrow.

“I know… I’m confused by that too,” I try to laugh off how terrified I am, but I’m not sure it works. If Oswald notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You must have been so nervous,” he flattens out the wrinkles on my robe with the flat of his hand. He looks sad, “I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through this.”

“I’m alright now,” I nuzzle into him, “I’m more at peace with myself now than I was a few hours ago, that’s for sure.”

“Want to go shopping?” he suggests.

“I'm not sure I'm quite ready for that. Not publicly, that is,” I chuckle. Money always was Oswald’s default solution to most problems.

“How about I bring the shopping to you? I can call the best designers here. We can make a day of it.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course!” he smiles widely, “Anything for you.”

* * *

I can’t help the coil of anxiety swirling about my insides when I poke my head around the corner. The day had gone on as normal, or at least as normal as it could given the conversation we had this morning and the still yet unanswered questions about our uncertain future. Even though Oswald has reassured me that all is well, I can’t help but twiddle my thumbs and wait for the other shoe to drop. And, right on cue, I hear it coming from the sunroom.

“No… I don’t know…” Oswald whispers into the phone, “We haven’t exactly discussed _that_ part. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do… Yes… Okay... Thank you again.”

“Who was that?” I step into the room, feigning confidence.

Oswald slams the receiver down and spins around, “That was… um…”

“Oswald, you didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

“Ed…” he flinches at the name, still unsure, “Before you get upset, just hear me out.”

Panic starts to set in and I can’t help but feel betrayed. Still, Oswald loves me. I have to keep reminding myself of that. We’ve already worked through our betrayals, surely he wouldn’t do something to hurt me again.

“Who was it?” I ask, looking away and crossing my arms. It’s hard not to feel defensive.

“That was Ms. Kean.”

“BARBARA?”

“Just calm down!” he yells, “I _needed_ to talk to someone. I needed to explain how I felt without worrying about making you upset. Alright? I needed a second opinion.”

“A second opinion on what?” I snarl, “Letting me down easily?”

“Do you _want_ me to leave?” he threw his hands up in the air, “Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“Then cease with the self-sabotage,” he stomps his foot, “Just let me do what I need to do so I can be a better partner.”

“Fine.”

He sighs, “I’m sorry I betrayed your trust. I didn’t know who else to turn to. Barbara seemed like a good option and she values secrets. She won’t tell anyone.”

“What did she suggest?” I sit in the chair across from him. I haven’t bothered putting clothes on for the day since I didn’t really see the point. They all fit me strangely anyway. My green robe is all that's wrapped around me.

“She offered to come by to bring you a few accessories she thought you might like,” he says, “But I told her that might be a little too much for you right now.”

“I don’t need Barbara Kean’s hand-me-downs,” I frown, “I am perfectly capable of shopping for myself.”

“That’s precisely what I told her. Though,” he chuckles, “she seemed _very_ excited by the idea.”

“She did?”

“Yes, she is rather enthusiastic about giving you a makeover,” he smiles, “With your permission and guidance, of course. This is about you.”

Days later and the manor was filled to the brim with boxes. Oswald spared no expense calling over all of his favorite designers and artisans. However, Oswald seemed rather keen to do most of the tailoring himself. He always had a knack for the skill and they were sharpened during his brief apprenticeship under his father.

“Well, I will admit, you do look nice in a tailored suit,” he says, tucking and folding bits of fabric at my waist.

“Who doesn't?”

“Exactly! Barbara, Lee, even Sofia looked good in a suit. I'm sure we could re-tailor all your favorites to suit your form in a way that is more affirming.”

“I'd like that,” I tell him, staring at my reflection. I already feel closer to myself. I hadn’t felt this light and airy since that first night out of Arkham. This particular suit always draped on me funny and I was never particularly fond of it. Which was a shame, because the lush velvet was soft and showed off the expense. With Oswald’s careful hand, it hugged my curves differently and the modifications to the collar made my shoulders seem less broad. The addition of an embroidered floral shirt as opposed to my normal geometric ones also added to the look. And, of course, a few key accessories Barbara Kean and the alley cat snatched from the museum not long ago.

“There is something I've been struggling with lately,” I say.

“What's that?”

“What belongs to you but others use it more than you do?”

“Ah. Haven't decided on a name?”

I turn to him and hold his hands in my own, “I have too many options! I'm suffering from choice paralysis at this point and I'm just making myself anxious,” I bring his hands to my lips and kiss his knuckles, all calloused and bruised from being out of practice with sewing, “Could you pick one?”

“You want _me_ to choose your new name?” his eyes are as big as saucers.

“Please? You're the only one who knows me well enough to help me with this.”

His gaze lands on the vase of flowers on the table, “How about Lily? Or Lillian?”

“Lily?” I test the name on my tongue.

“It's my favorite flower, as you know. Just like you're my favorite,” he walks over and touches the delicate green petals of the calla lilies. They were actually a gift from Oswald the day before, “I also read somewhere that they symbolize rebirth and renewal. So it seems fitting.”

“I like it,” I smile, “Lily... Lillian Nygma... I can work with that.”

“What about Lilian Cobblepot?” Oswald abruptly adds.

I look up and stare at him through the mirror, “...You want me to take your last name?”

“Will you?” he stops himself and shakes his head, “But please don’t misunderstand! It’s not because I own you or anything. You don’t have to take my name if you don’t want to. I just wanted to let you know it was an option…” Oswald stared at the floor, uncharacteristically uneasy on his feet.

“Oswald?” I step forward, “Did you… just ask me to marry you?”

“Will you?” he chuckles, “My mother was right. She told me that life only gives us one true love and that person is you. It’s always been you.”

“You mean it?” I lunge forward, “That hasn’t changed?”

“I still love you,” he nods, “I am still just as in love with you as I was the first day that I realized I had fallen for you. And just as in love as all of those times after. This,” he holds me, “will not change that.”

My heart nearly bursts. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear that from him until the words came pouring out like honey. God help Oswald Cobblepot, because there was no way he was ever going to get rid of me now.

“Lillian Cobblepot it is then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After mulling it over for months, I decided to finish this fic. Or at least complete it in a way that was more satisfying for me. I’ve been hesitant for a number of reasons but everyone has been nothing but supportive and sweet soooo I’m gonna continue this where I left off and add all of the parts I carved out back in. Which means I’m changing the rating and the tags.

I’m not used to the weight of these earrings. I like them well enough, especially the color of these particular peridots, but I’m too busy fiddling with them when I should be focused on my therapy.

“Is somethin’ the matter?” Dr. Quinzel asks, her platinum blonde hair cascading down her shoulder in a fishtail braid. I’m trying not to fixate on how jealous I feel looking at her and how _natural_ it all comes to her. How she can seem effortlessly beautiful all the time, at least from the outside looking in.

“No… they’re just heavy,” my hands fall like dead weights into my lap. I stare at them and frown at how the verdigris polish has already chipped.

Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m floating away. I look at my reflection, or I’ll be tinkering away at some mindless task, and it’s like my vision fills with static. Oswald will ask me a billion questions and I keep pretending like I can hear him through the fog in my brain and I know that it irritates him. He keeps rolling his eyes and mumbling at me before throwing his hands in the air and walking away, flustered and with his questions largely unanswered.

This session isn’t much different. I know I’ve been here almost my entire hour just fussing in silence and wondering if I was wrong to pair these heels with this skirt. I’m just grateful my chosen therapist is patient enough with me.

“Ya seem a little hesitant this session,” Dr. Quinzel points out, “Do ya think there might be a reason for that?”

“I don’t want to disappoint Oswald,” I confess, picking at my cuticles.

“And why do ya think you’ll disappoint him?” she asks.

“I’m worried I’ll prove him wrong.”

“And what exactly are ya goin’ to do that’s gonna prove him wrong?”

“Surgery, I guess?” I look up at her. She frowns and I can tell that my face is giving away some of how I really feel.

“So, if I understand correctly, you are worried that if ya pursue gender-affirming surgeries that it will prove him wrong and he won’t wanna be with ya anymore?”

“Yes,” I reply honestly. It makes my chest hurt.

“Have ya talked to your fiance about it?”

I shake my head and try to will my eyes to dry so I don’t ruin the makeup Oswald worked so hard on this morning, “What if that’s the final straw? What if that is what makes him leave?”

“You’re catastrophizin’ again.”

“I know,” I sniffle, dabbing the corner of my eye with the handkerchief from my pocket. It smells like the overly perfumed detergent Oswald’s likes to use. The fragrant sandalwood and clove make my nose itch, but it’s delightful all the same. I’d bathe in it if I could. That way I’d always be reminded of home and what awaits me there.

“This is the first time that you’ve mentioned possibly gettin’ surgery. Is this somethin’ you’ve always wanted or is this a recent development?”

“Just recently,” I tell her, “I wasn’t expecting Oswald to be as open as he is, so I hadn’t thought of it as an option.”

“See, even you just said that he’s been open about the idea,” she smirks and waits for me to acknowledge that she’s right.

“I know. I’m still plagued with worry, is all.”

“It’s a very big change. And I won’t lie to ya and say that it won’t have _some_ kind of effect on your sex life. So this is definitely somethin’ to talk to him about,” she holds out her hand before I can get a word in, “Now, I’m _not_ saying that ya need his _permission_. I’m sayin’ ya should talk to him, tell him what it is ya need to do for you and talk him through it so that ya can both mentally prepare for it.”

“What if he gets mad?” My voice is barely audible, especially with the loud rumble in my ears and chest. 

“You’re throwin’ around a lot of what-ifs tonight, Lily,” she scolds.

“I know… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t go apologizin’ to me,” she tuts, “Ya don’t need to. Only apologize for the things ya need to apologize for. Like murder. Ya haven’t murdered anyone recently, have ya?”

“No, but there was this really cute pair of shoes that I saw in a store window but a woman there bought them before I could. I was _this_ close.”

We both laugh at that. Harleen is certainly an unconventional therapist, it’s why I chose her. She’s never really shied away from discussing my past and has never once shamed me for my darker humor because of it. In fact, she seems to revel in it as much as I do.

“How _is_ your sex life, by the way? Ya said before that it was pretty stable and healthy but that was before ya came out as trans. Has anything changed?”

“Not really? It doesn’t feel like too much has changed,” I chew on my lip, “Though, I have been wondering if that’s just because Oswald might still see me as a man in those moments.”

“Do you?” she asks.

“Sometimes,” I frown, "And sometimes I try and pretend that I'm still a man because I think it'll make me feel less guilty."

"We've talked about guilt before," she nods, turning one of the pages on her notepad.

“We have…” I shift in my chair. The subject always makes me feel like my chest has been carved open and some hungry animal is lapping away at my insides.

“Do ya wanna discuss that, or should we move on for a minute?”

“Can we… move on?” I ask. My throat is dry but the cup of tea beside me isn’t doing much to remedy that. I’ll have to remember to pick up some ginger on the way home today.

“This is your time, Lily. We’ll discuss what it is _you_ wanna discuss,” she smiles again, reassuring and bright, “Well, since it got brought up, have ya given any thought to what surgeries ya may want? Ya don’t have to have all of the answers right now, I’m just touchin’ base and gettin’ an idea of where you're at.”

"I’ve looked into a lot of them and read a lot of testimonies. I mean… I may as well, right? I have access to the finances with Oswald's help."

"Legally?" She snorts.

"Do you want me to answer honestly?" I chuckle.

"Answer however ya want,” she waves her hand and tosses one of her notes aside, “Honestly, though. You're very lucky. Some girls don't have access."

"I know," I frown, "I can't imagine what that must be like."

"How does that make ya feel?"

"...Guilty."

“And now we’re back to the guilt.”

I chewed at my nails, an awful habit that I am more aware of now that I’m trying to grow them out, “I know I don’t need surgery. I guess… I guess I just don’t want to look back at our wedding photos and hate how I look.”

“I think most women go through that,” she tells me, “I cannot count the number of times girls will come to me panicking and asking for a xanax script because they want to look their absolute best for their wedding and they’re throwing themselves into anxiety attacks over it.”

“Oswald has always wanted a gigantic wedding. He never told me directly, but he’s made a lot of comments over the years about flower arrangements, music, venues… It reminds me a lot of when we would host events when he was Mayor,” I smile at the memory it conjures. His little fits and how he’d squawk at the slightest inconvenience and be offended by the slightly wrong shade of lavender was always oddly endearing. He was always a man who knew what he wanted. It was enviable. “I want this day to be perfect for him too. And I don’t want him to spend all of this money on a photographer if I’m just going to hate how I look.”

“What’s your timeline?”

“Oswald wants to get married in January.”

“Honey, it’s _September,”_ she gasps.

“I know which is why I’m having to make these decisions now rather than later.”

“Hmmm…” she scrunches her face.

“Uh oh… I know that look.”

“You’ve gone through a lot of life changes in a very short amount of time.”

“I have,” I nod.

“It’s not my job to tell ya what to do. I’m just here to guide ya… However, I wonder if maybe ya should consider givin’ yourself a little bit more time between them,'' she suggests, “Let yourself cope and _process_ before ya move on to the next step.”

“You think we should reschedule the wedding?” I feel like my heart has stopped. And yet, at the same time, I almost feel relief.

“If your seriously considerin’ getting surgery and are dead set on havin’ work done before your wedding, yes. I think ya should.”

I swallow, pressing the sharp and jagged ends of my nails into the palm of my hands. It’s all I can do to stop myself from bursting into tears.

* * *

November arrives before I muster up the courage to say anything. Oswald is sitting there by the fire, staring at me. He doesn’t look disappointed or angry or… _anything_ really. It’s infuriating and, if I’m honest, pretty terrifying.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. The longer he sits there with his question unanswered the more I can see the tautness of his jaw and, if I listen closely enough, I can hear his teeth grind. Anger, then. At least his expression has given me _something_ to work with.

“It was Dr. Quinzel’s professional opinion that I give myself more time and I think that is probably wise,” I tell him.

“Her professional opinion?” he scoffs before looking away, “If that is what you need, Lily, we will _postpone_ the arrangements,” the air wobbles uncomfortably on his exhale. I watch as his right hand flexes, the tendons likely aching from the cold now that he’s developing a bit of arthritis as the years drag on.

“Oswald,” I sit down beside him on the couch, “I haven’t changed my mind. That’s not why I want to wait.”

“Then what is it then?” he asks. Oh… _not_ anger. His shoulders slump and his eyes look like they’re unable to rest, desperately searching my face for answers much like what I had just been doing moments ago.

“I… want to pursue some surgeries. And there is a _lot_ that goes into it. Lots of waiting lists. Lots of plastic surgeons to interview. Lots of changes that you and I should discuss before we move forward.”

“I see,” Oswald says, his shoulders relaxing. The tension rolls off of him like water off a duck, “You nearly gave me a heart attack, Lily! Start by giving me context before you tell me things like _we should cancel the wedding.”_

“I’m sorry!” I pull his hands into my own and give them a reassuring squeeze, “I’ll be more mindful next time. It was just difficult getting the words out in the first place.”

“I understand. It’s all still relatively new,” he squeezes back, “What sorts of surgeries are you considering?”

“I haven’t really decided,” I say, looking away.

Oswald sighs, “Are you undecided because you were waiting to ask what _I_ wanted?”

“...I know what you’re going to say,” I flinch.

“Do you?” he tilts his head and gives me that _look._

“I should be making decisions for me. To take what I want, when I want, and suffer no fools,” I turn back to face him, smiling at the echo of our past. It was the beginning. Of us. Of the life we’ve both wanted— craved— for so long. And yet… “I just… I don’t… It’s just _so much,”_ I cry.

“It’s a lot to process,” he rubs my back in soothing circles that always make me feel warm and at home.

“And a lot to fear,” I rest my head on his shoulder, breathing in warm sandalwood.

“Yes,” he nods, “All I can ask for is that you at least try and believe me when I tell you that I will still love you and be attracted to you no matter what path you decide to tread.”

“Thank you,” I sniffle, “For everything you’ve ever given me.”

“You deserve it,” he says, lifting my chin and kissing me before continuing, “Now, don’t be shy. What all needs to be done?”

“Well, obviously I want a boob job. That’s a given,” I chuckle, gesturing to my mostly flat pectorals.

“Exciting,” Oswald smiles, trailing his teasing fingers up and down my chest, flicking at the pearl buttons on my blouse.

“There’s a surgery that could actually change the pitch of my voice,” I tell him, “But it’s really invasive and comes with a ton of complications that would require me to not be able to talk for several months. Possibly even a year.”

“Lily, darling… I love you,” he gently holds my face, “You would fail at that.”

“I know,” I laugh, “Probably best to take that one off the list for now.”

“Anything else?” he asks and I already know which ones he’s thinking of.

“There’s a series of facial surgeries I could get that would make my face more feminine. I’ll probably go through with those,” I tell him, bracing myself.

“And... the rest of it?” Oswald asks, tentatively. He doesn’t look me in the eyes and instead lets the question linger in that space between us. I wish I could just crawl inside of him and know all of the anxieties that he feels. At least then I would know for certain and wouldn’t have to walk a tightrope any longer.

“I don’t know yet,” I answer, “Right now, I’m content with that aspect of myself. Mostly... No one else but you sees it,” I lean forward, capturing his earlobe between my teeth. He shivers at the contact and I can’t help but chuckle at how the smallest of gestures still ruffle his feathers after all these years, “And the sex is fantastic as it is. So, right now I remain undecided.”

“Speaking of fantastic sex,” he says as he presses his palm to my chest and tips me over. He straddles me at my waist, trailing kisses up and down my throat before he pulls away suddenly, “Oh, but Lily I’ve already booked the catering!”

“Already?” I laugh at how my own over preparedness has seemed to rub off on him, “How much food did you order?”

Oswald blushes in response, “A lot… I don’t really want to cancel the order, perhaps we can put it to a different use?”

“What do you suggest?”

“Maybe we can have a party for you,” he says, “Reintroduce you to the world!”

“What?!” I yelp. My legs are far too long for the couch and I nearly knee myself in the face as I flail upright, “To everyone?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“But that… That’s a lot,” I choke out.

“It is. But I think you deserve to be showered with gifts and praise,” he tugs at the little curls draped on my forehead and smiles, “The Riddler has _nothing_ to hide from.”

“You’re probably right...”

“Give it some thought,” he says, “We don’t have to do that if you don’t want to,” his eyes darken, “In the meantime…” he pushes me onto my back and kisses me again.

* * *

Only in Gotham can former enemies that once held you at a knife’s edge be your dearest allies and friends. Barbara Kean has evolved a lot over the years. The once starry-eyed fiance of Jim Gordon turned maniac turned crime donna was now one of the few people I held close.

The two of us came to terms with one another after No Man’s Land. Oswald and I often joke with her about how becoming a mother had changed her so thoroughly but, in reality, she has always been this person. Just like the rest of us drowning fools, she was lost at sea. No Man’s Land gave her perspective on what was important and, now that she has it, she isn’t willing to let it slip through her fingers so easily.

She still spits and snarls at Oswald on occasion, reminding him of her vow to take his life in revenge for Tabitha Galavan, but she never goes through with it. Even when she has ample opportunity. It’s been years since then and, much like myself, she’s forgiven him.

“Do we go with green or gold?” she examines the palette of eyeshadow in her hand, “My vote is gold. I think it would pair well with your dress.”

“Can we go with something… softer?” I ask, staring at my reflection in the floor-length mirror, “I don’t want the guests to assume I have to try so hard to look pretty.”

“So, more of an ‘ _I woke up like this’_ kind of look?” Barbara asks, picking out a different palette. 

“I think so, yeah,” I swish the hem of my skirt. The pleated, iridescent fabric drapes over my skin and is actually quite flattering. It shimmers a bit like peacock feathers— bold green hues with purple and gold accents. The neckline plunges just below my sternum but the pleats actually create the illusion that there is more form underneath and gives me a more affirming silhouette. 

“Come here,” Barbara says, waving me over to the vanity.

I sit down on the small, tufted stool in front of the mirror. I angle my face in all of the ways I’ve practiced, paying closest attention to the expressions I’ve noted hold Oswald’s gaze the longest. My hair is still at that unruly length where it is too long to keep out of my face and still too short to do anything with. Luckily, Barbara Kean can work magic and has managed to sculpt it into delicate finger waves that embrace my natural curls.

“Are you nervous?” she asks, applying a bit of primer to my eyelids.

“I’m trying not to be,” I tell her, “I think Oswald is more scared than I am.”

“Ozzie just wants everything to be perfect.” I chuckle when the first color she gravitates towards is _Legacy._ “He’s scared of disappointing you.”

“He’s not going to disappoint me,” I say, “And if anything goes wrong, I’m sure he’s sharpened the knife in his cane.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” she laughs, “He’s always been protective of you.”

“He has. Even when he shouldn’t be.”

We’ve forgiven one another for our betrayals, but we’ve never really discussed what he had been willing to give up for me. How he told Barbara that he wouldn’t turn me in even after all of the horrible things I’d done to him. Even when I lied and told him I didn’t want him or love him in return. He was willing to give it all up for my sake. To sacrifice everything if it meant I would be safe and happy. His empire. His life. His eye...

“Hey,” Barbara clicks her tongue at me, “Chin up. Just because you’re a woman doesn’t mean you have to sink back into being that scared kid you were back at the GCPD.”

“Thank you,” I nod. She’s right, even if I find that truth to be difficult. It’s just hard trying to find yourself again when you were once so self-assured.

“You are just as strong and just as powerful as you always were,” she says, “And I would argue more so now. I mean, look at you.”

I turn back towards the mirror and marvel at the makeup she’s applied. She’s managed to capture a lot of how I feel inside on my face and I almost want to cry. 

The party itself isn’t as nerve-wracking as I’d expected it to be. It’s opulent, but a relatively small gathering. Most of the attendees are members of the Family who are there to give respects and appease the Penguin and the Riddler. There is also far too much food than we can eat on our own, even _if_ I wasn’t attempting to maintain my figure lately. Though, Oswald seems content to eat enough for the both of us.

Guests come and go, pampering me with compliments as they make their way to the hors d’oeuvres and wine. There have been a few, of course, who ask an invasive question here and there or whisper amongst themselves. But they are _quickly_ dispatched by the Siren’s security. I didn’t even realize just _how_ comfortable I was until one of the lower crime bosses approached me with a lewd comment and I didn't even look up from my cocktail when I snapped my fingers and he was escorted to a back room.

“You look stunning,” Oswald says, handing me another champagne.

“You too,” I smirk over the rim of my glass. He ordered a new suit for the occasion and I hadn’t seen it before this evening. It’s a rich charcoal with iridescent pinstripes that match my dress. He even has a bit of metallic plum eyeshadow to accentuate his features and mismatched eyes.

“Have you enjoyed yourself?” he asks, sitting down in the private booth beside me.

“Very much so,” I tell him, “This was a good idea.”

“I’m glad,” he smiles brightly, leaning in to kiss me. However, we’re interrupted before our lips meet.

“Hey, Boss!” Victor Zsasz announces. His hands are held above his head and one of the security guards kicks the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground. Oswald and I both stand, looking down at the assassin.

“You have some nerve showing up here,” Oswald snarls, “I don’t recall inviting you.”

“You didn’t,” he says, matter-of-factly, “But I thought I’d stop by anyway. Never was one to knock.”

“No one has seen you in years,” the Penguin stalks forward, predatory. “Why show your face now?”

“I figured I was gone long enough. I got bored,” he sighs, “Gotham is my home too, after all.”

“What do you want, Victor?” Oswald rolls his eyes, his gun is still at his side but he hasn’t lifted it once.

“Um, it’s a party?” Victor makes a face like his answer should have been obvious to anyone. He turns his attention to me and smirks, “Lookin’ good, Riddler.”

“Thank y—” I clear my throat, my voice having fallen back into muscle memory. I’d almost forgotten how I would pitch it lower back in those days, “Thank you, Victor.”

“I’m not here to cause problems,” he tells us, “I was kinda hoping we could, you know… forget about everything? Let bygones be bygones and all that.”

“You can’t be serious?” Oswald scoffs, waving his gun childishly. A few members of the crowd duck and gasp, “You betrayed me!”

“It’s Gotham,” he shrugs.

“He does have a point,” I say.

“Congratulations, by the way,” he grins, “I was always rooting for you two. Oh, and I left you a gift.”

Oswald and I both look at the makeshift gift table and see the chrome-plated Barrett tied up with a red bow. Oswald makes a noise akin to his namesake.

“UGH, _fine,”_ he groans, “I’ll allow you to live. For now.”

Victor Zsasz stands up then, smiling widely at the two of us. The forgiveness seems to have meant a lot to him too given that he’s often far lonelier than he tends to let on. He and Oswald continue to exchange a few words when someone catches my eye.

“Excuse me a moment,” I kiss Oswald’s cheek and make my way towards the man at the other end of the room. He’s still turned away from me, looking around, “Hello, Foxy.”

“Hello,” he blinks, a bit wide-eyed and out of place among the rogues. I watch as he glances at me from toe to crown, “It’s Lilian now, correct?”

“Y-Yes. Or just Lily,” I clear my throat and run my hands down the front of my dress like I’m smoothing wrinkles, “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to give you these,” he says, handing me a bouquet of carnations.

“Flowers?” I press one to my lips, “Really? Is this you attempting to flirt?”

“We may have had our disagreements, but I meant what I said on that rooftop,” he says, still stoic as ever, “A lot more people would have died without your help during that time.”

“And a lot more people would still be alive if I had stayed dead,” I say, frowning.

“I doubt that,” he says and I can see that stone veneer crack, “Lily, I don’t think you are a good person by a long shot. However, and I may be just as crazy as anyone else when I say this, but I don’t regret knowing you. And I’m glad I’m finally getting the opportunity to meet the real you. I’m happy for you.”

“That… That means a lot, Foxy.”

He holds out his hand, intending me to shake it. The whole situation just makes me giggle as I throw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. Almost like he’s really my friend.

And it means so much more when he actually hugs me back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note for anyone interested: Peridots often symbolizes harmony between mind and body and peaceful expression, so I thought it was fitting since I do enjoy my metaphors.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a Lilies & Perfume [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5aikFuh5VjVCsGuKHsdMN6?si=s7Eithu0T268_kFDpWjIzA) because I couldn't help myself.

The surgeon I chose is an artist. For the most part, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference or know that my anatomy had once been wrong. There are still scars, a few little nips and tucks that had been hard to conceal. My hands drift over them on occasion, making me wince. But they were just like any old scars. This had been a battle I’d survived like all of the others.

That particular journey had taken up the better part of three years. Oswald, who normally squawks at the idea of waiting, had been the most delicate and patient partner I could have ever asked for. It’s a privilege, truly, to be adored by him.

“Good morning,” Oswald greets me with a yawn at the table. He takes a sip of the coffee, makes quite the disgruntled face, and then goes to turn the kettle on. He always was more of a tea drinker. “Any new developments?”

“No, unfortunately,” I tell him. I hadn’t come home from the Riddle Factory last night after someone let slip that one of my employees had defected. I’d stayed out all night after I uncovered rumors of a potential coup d'état at the Iceberg Lounge. “Sofia Falcone’s old capos are hiding her well. I’m not even sure she’s still in Gotham.”

“Oh, she is,” Oswald purses his lips, “She’s just waiting for her opportunity.”

“Well, she’s going to have a hard time finding one. You and I own most of the city. The criminal Underground knows not to mess with us.”

“If only that were true,” he scoffs, “Sofia had capos waiting in the shadows for her return. That alone tells me how little I should trust their loyalty.”

“You did always say trust was hard to find in Gotham. Are you really that surprised?”

“I may be getting old now, but I’m no fool,” he takes the kettle from the stove before it whistles and pours it over the tea leaves. It was apparently a vanilla and licorice sort of day. “Betrayal is inevitable. That’s why we put things in place to maintain our power should someone decide to throw a wrench into it.”

Most of the Underworld currently has their money tied up in the Iceberg Lounge and other investments that the Penguin controls. Many won’t back out of their deals and treaties because of that. And, if they did, they’d lose all of their funding and resources so they’d be useless to someone like Sofia Falcone. Even some of the other Rogues that Oswald and I deal with on occasion knew that it was better to maintain pleasantries. The cons far outweigh the pros in those matters.

“It’s why Sofia hasn’t made her move yet,” Oswald continues, taking his seat across from me and blowing the steam from his tea. “She’s trying to find the kinks in our armor.”

“She won’t find them,” I say with gleeful confidence.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he shakes his head and stares at the swirling liquid. The china was a newer set, a gift from Barbara Kean that she’d intended to give us at our wedding all those years ago. It was a custom set with green and purple flowers, gold inlay, and an inky black interior. It made the liquid have a sort of mirror finish, like a tiny scrying bowl. Oswald seems rather fond of them and it makes me wonder if he’s trying to decipher his future when he stares at his reflection so intently.

“You got close to her. What do you think her next move will be?” I ask.

“Sofia is a snake,” his fingers drum rhythmically on the table, “She coils herself around you, lulls you into a false sense of security with empty promises and just enough affection to keep you tethered, and then sinks her fangs into you.”

“Sounds familiar,” I chuckle.

“Yes,” he sighs and takes another sip of his tea. He winces when it scalds his tongue, “That’s what makes her so dangerous.”

“How dangerous can she be, Oswald? She’s been comatose for a decade.”

“She’s still a Falcone,” he says, a sharpness to his tone that sounds a bit like splintering glass, “She’s also resilient.”

“So are you,” I remind him.

“Yes, well… she survived a  _ bullet _ between her eyes.”

“And you survived being tossed into a frozen river after a bullet ripped through your abdominal cavity, your point?”

He glares at me then, clearly annoyed by me bringing up our previous betrayals. He makes a noncommittal sound and averts his eyes while he tries to enjoy his morning tea.

“What I  _ mean _ to say is that you have arguably been through more and been shaped by it. You’re just as resilient as she is. More so, I think. You’ve been shot, stabbed, betrayed, survived No Man’s Land and a grenade blast,” I stand and make my way towards his side of the table. His gaze finally meets mine when I lean in to kiss him. It’s soft, a quick peck that is innocent and tentative, as most of our kisses have become lately. “I’m not worried.”

“She’s a lot like you, you know?” his fingers curl around my wrist and pin me in place. I watch as his gaze pours over me, taking in every sensual curve.

“Should I be jealous?”

“No,” he smiles, the pad of his thumb lovingly caressing my skin, “Sofia never held a candle to you. She was just… a distraction.”

“Now you have me curious,” I quirk an eyebrow, “How are we similar?”

“You're both meticulous,” he says, “I thought I had beaten her once. Little did I know she’d already anticipated me going to Falcone and had planned on having him killed, framing me in the eyes of the Underworld.”

“It is like me to be several steps ahead of my enemies,” I say, shifting in place. There were other similarities. I could guess most of them just based on my brief interactions with her and from what Oswald had told me, but they weren’t the most pleasant of comparisons. 

“Her downfall was that she was too self-assured. She wasn’t ready to take on Gotham but was unwilling to accept the wisdom of her elders. What’s funny is she and I could have been quite the formidable couple if she had followed the path that you started on.”

“Couple?” I pout, “Okay, but now I  _ am _ jealous.”

“Oh,  _ please,”  _ he rolls his eyes, tugging me into his lap, “She isn’t my type.”

“And yet, we’re similar?” I cock my head. My hair is much longer now and drapes over my shoulders. I catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye and wonder if he'd prefer it shorter.

“Lily,” he growls, “Stop putting words into my mouth.”

“I’m not. You’re speaking and I’m interpreting.”

“You’re overthinking,” he pokes my forehead and I go cross-eyed. I look back at him and sigh.

Overthinking was a blessing as well as a curse. If I didn’t routinely hyper-fixate on seemingly innocuous details, we would be locked up in Blackgate or Arkham Asylum by now. So when was I supposed to know when to stop spinning my wheels and when to simply exist?

He tells me to ignore the changes between us, but it’s a difficult task denying reality. Especially since I had already spent so much of my life living through a series of delusions. Since my last surgery, Oswald and I have not really shared an intimate moment, not like we used to. Not in a way that was mutually pleasurable. He still initiates— out of politeness, I assume— but it’s up to me to try and navigate us back to a more comfortable boundary. 

It’s easy to imagine me as I was when my head is between his legs. I still enjoy it, especially the noises he makes and the weight of him on my tongue, but when it’s all over there is this uncomfortable silence that falls on us. A silence I can’t help but interpret as anything other than that sinking feeling one gets when they’re being dangled over a cliff.

“Kiss me?” he asks, caressing my face. He looks unsure of himself and it breaks my heart.

I oblige, leaning in and gently pressing my lips against his. It’s chaste, borderline platonic. I try not to linger so I don’t accidentally invite him into a situation I know he’s not invested in.

Well… I  _ don’t _ know. But I’d rather not confirm it.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says, drawing his fingers through my hair. His nails massage at my scalp and rake all the way toward the frayed ends. 

I focus on the edges of his eyes, the twitch of his temple, and all of the other micro-expressions that give away his true feelings. They're still too ambiguous for me to come to any solid conclusions about how he feels about me. All I have is what I know of him and of myself. I don't particularly like the answer to this puzzle.

“I’m not upset,” I lie. My words sound a bit like overly sweetened candy.

“You can still talk to me,” his frown deepens.

“I know,” I force a smile.

I watch his tongue glide over his teeth, his mouth pursing into that petulant expression I usually have a fondness for. However, right now, he looks a bit like he might explode, “But you don’t  _ want _ to talk to me.”

“No, that’s not it at all!” I cry. He pushes my shoulders, forcing me back to my feet. I stumble backwards as he stands and try my damndest not to weep like some desperate little thing.

“Fine, then let’s discuss this!” He glares, flapping his arms at his sides. I can almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

“What’s there to discuss?” I shrug, “Everything’s fine.”

“You lying little— ARGH!” he grits his teeth, “We are  _ not _ fine!  _ Nothing _ about this is fine, Lily.”

“Please,” I hold up my hands, forcing myself to inhale and bite back all of my hurt, “I don’t want to fight. Not about this. Not yet.”

“Why does it have to be a fight?” he asks, his eyes openly expressing his torment. Torment that  _ I have put him through. _

“It… It doesn’t,” I stammer, “I-I’m just not ready.”

“I need to go to the Lounge today,” he stares at the empty space just past me, unable to stomach looking at me directly, “Don’t wait up for me.”

"But Sofia is still out there," I take a step forward but stop in my tracks when he shoots another scowl in my direction, "We should come up with a plan first."

"Then come up with one," he rolls his eyes again, "I don't want to fight either so I'm getting away from you. Let me have that."

"I… alright," I deflate and fall back into the chair. I fiddle with the edges of my acrylics and don’t bother looking up at him, "I'll just—" the door slams and the mansion goes quiet, "—be here."

I spend the majority of my time alone avoiding every mirror in the house. I know that if I look at myself and don't see the person that I know Oswald really wants, I might scream. I'll react impulsively and cut my hair and throw out all of the makeup. It wouldn’t be enough though. I can’t go back.

_ “And, like the butterfly, I’ve come to realize that I cannot be a caterpillar once again.” _

Oswald said he wanted to get away from me. Perhaps taking that burden off of him is what’s best? Maybe I should just leave. He said he would be at the Lounge all night, so that gives me some time to pack. I've run away before, the concept isn't new to me. I left back when I was a Nashton. Back when there were still  _ expectations _ and Sunday school. Leaving the Nashton’s had been a sort of liberation, but leaving _ this _ family felt wrong and unfair. This was the family I’d chosen. The family Oswald and I built together.

I open my jewelry box and pull out all of the treasures I’ve collected over the years. All of the gifts I’ve received from admirers and from close friends supporting me. Many of them were from Oswald.

He’s indulged me over the years and gifted me several pieces with custom question mark pendants and brooches. However, this one— a little Gentoo penguin holding a polished malachite— was my favorite. 

The phone rings down the hall and I consider not answering. If it’s Oswald desperate for some form of apology, I don’t think my heart could handle it. Not when I’m considering leaving for his sake. On the fourth ring, I steady myself and put on that faux smile.

“Cobblepot residence,” I answer in a saccharine tone.

“Lily? It’s… uh… It’s Jim.”

“Jim?” I frown, my voice dipping back into a comfortable cadence, “Why the hell are  _ you _ calling?”

“I just got off the radio with Harvey… Sofia Falcone and her men just gunned their way through the Iceberg Lounge.”

“What?!” I stumble and nearly knock over a vase sitting on the table beside me. A purple orchid falls to the floor at my feet.

“Are you and Oswald both safe at your home?”

“N-No… Oswald went to the Lounge  _ hours _ ago. He was supposed to be out all night.”

“We’re on our way there now. Stay where you are—”

I slam the receiver down and make for the front door. I barely think to grab my coat and gun.

Everything inside me screams— menacing and angry. The growl that rips through my throat as I turn the corner towards the Iceberg Lounge makes my teeth ache. If  _ anyone _ has harmed a  _ single _ hair on Oswald’s head, I swear I will burn all of Gotham to the ground.

I don’t bother hiding my approach, instead speeding down Main and cutting the engine at the front steps. I didn’t even care that this was an obvious trap. They would  _ know _ the Riddler was coming for them. 

Patrons and employees alike flee down the steps, clutching their jewelry. Not a robbery then. I barrel through them, gun at the ready, and beeline towards Oswald’s office.

“Victor?” I call out, spotting the man unconscious on the floor. His breathing and temperature are normal, but there is a sizable lump on the back of his head. I don’t have time to keep checking him if I am to get to Oswald in time so I roll him over and make my way down the hall. I’m sure Victor will forgive me given the circumstances.

The guards at the door were easy enough to dispatch. I apparently still have excellent aim when I’m determined and angry. 

“Hello, Lilian,” Sofia’s voice mocks me from the other side of the door. When I enter, Oswald is on the floor, beaten, with a gun aimed at his head, and Sofia Falcone, bullet scar and bright red dress to match, is perched on his throne.

The man with the gun presses it against Oswald’s temple. I lower mine and drop it on the floor by my feet. He doesn’t take his finger off of the trigger until I kick it across the room.

“Hello, Sofia,” I glare.

“It’s been a while,” she gives me an appraising look, “You look good.”

“Thanks. I’ve had some dental work done,” I sneer.

“You’ve done well for yourself, Penguin,” the man holding the gun remarks out of turn, his New York accent grating and nasal, “Maybe, once I’m done painting this room with your brains, I’ll have a go.”

“Excuse me?” My eyes widen like saucers. Oswald lashes out before I can make any further comment.

“If you even  _ think  _ about touching her I’ll—”

“—Oh, I’m already thinkin’ it,” he smiles, looking me up and down.

All of the wind is knocked out of my lungs and I almost feel a little guilty at the relief I feel when he turns his attention back to Oswald. They continue to fire remarks at one another, the New Yorker spouting off nonsense about getting revenge and taking back what belonged to him. I glance over at Sofia who looks just as infuriated by his previous, undignified behavior.

We lock eyes then, her eyebrows lifting and the edge of her mouth curling. Slowly, she slides the knife on the table closer to the edge where I’m standing and folds her hands into her lap.

“And when I’m done with you, I’m gonna—” the man stops, sputtering. Blood pours from his mouth as he reaches towards the back of his head and feels the knife handle. It seems my aim with knife throwing is also a skill I haven’t lost. I’m rusty, but enough adrenaline and my aim is perfect.

He stumbles, knocking over penguin statuettes and books around the office. He tries to open his mouth to speak, but the knife placement must be affecting his ability to form words. Shame. All he does is whimper. Oswald stands, wipes the blood from under his nose, and pushes the man off balance. He lands on his back which only forces the knife blade further into his skull.

“What a waste,” Sofia remarks as she stands, “Umberto had potential.”

“Umberto?” Oswald gawks at the corpse at his feet, “As in  _ Umberto Maroni?” _

“Yes.”

_ “Huh,” _ Oswald smirks, kicking at the man’s shoes.

“He was actually the one who contacted me,” she says, “He said it would be poetic if the son of Sal Maroni and the daughter of Carmine Falcone joined forces to take you down.”

“Well, I hope there was more to your plans,” Oswald smirks, his nose wrinkling. He kneels down and pries the gun from the dead Maroni’s hands, “Because it didn’t take much to get rid of him.”

“Actually, Oswald, I came here to say goodbye,” she confesses, stepping over the body and sauntering towards him, “I’m leaving Gotham.”

“Ha! You expect me to believe that?” he aims the gun between her eyes.

I chuckle, “You came with Maroni knowing that we would either kill him or he would succeed and you’d deal with him yourself. You were getting rid of the competition.”

“I was,” she admits.

“Where are you leaving to?” I ask, unable to curb my natural curiosity.

“To Chicago. My cousin Lucia runs the Underworld there and she’s invited me to stay.”

“And why do you feel the need to tell us this?” Oswald snarls, “What do you gain?”

“I would hope I’d gain your respect. I also felt I owed you an explanation and maybe some peace of mind, however temporary.” She smirks, “And because I want you to know that I will be returning. You just won’t know when.”

“Or, I could just kill you,” he says. His aim never sways.

“You could, but where would be the fun in that?” She steps forward, allowing the barrel of the gun to press against her forehead, “I’m not quite back to where I used to be. My head is still a bit fuzzy, so killing me would be a bit like putting down a sick animal.”

“Would you rather I just put you out of your misery then?” he presses the gun further against her skull which makes her twitch.

“I’m curious,” she smiles, “Why was it Lee who shot me and not you?”

“You know the answer to that,” he snarls, nodding in my direction, “Did you plan for that outcome too?”

“No, actually. That was a detail I’d missed,” she glances over at me, “I’m happy for you two.”

Oswald exhales sharply through his nose, a nasal sort of laugh. He lowers his gun and glares, “Let’s put a pin in it for now. Get back to your old self and then we’ll talk.”

The remaining goons were easy to get rid of. Most of them were low-level thugs who were too stupid to know who they were dealing with. Oswald is still a surgeon with a handgun, even with the damaged eye. I still prefer my kills to be a little more personal and end up carving my way through the kitchen where several of Maroni’s men thought they could steal a free meal.

Commissioner Gordon arrived shortly after with a deployment of officers from the GCPD. All that was left to do at that point was put on a show for the officers, give an eyewitness account of what we’d experienced (minus a few of the more incriminating details), and we were sent on our merry little way.

The car ride home was unbearable. After the fight we’d had earlier that morning, I almost expected him to stay at the penthouse above the Lounge. He hadn’t said a word to me since opening the car door and sliding into the passenger seat. It’s not until we turn onto the stretch of road that leads towards the mansion that he finally speaks.

“Umberto didn’t suffer enough,” Oswald mumbles, “How dare he say something so vile.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” I sigh, “He’s dead.”

“Good riddance,” he rests his head against the glass of the window, “I won’t tolerate such disrespect aimed in your direction.”

“I get the impression I am going to encounter it a lot.”

“Then we may need to invest in more quick cement,” he says. It sounds like Oswald has a lot of plans to feed some of the fish in the river. The thought makes me grin.

To my surprise, we barely make it through the front door before his hands are all over me. I giggle at the suddenness and drink in every smirk and desperate attack of my lips.

I pull back and bask in the utter fondness of his expression, “What was that for?”

“You are  _ very _ attractive covered in blood,” he growls, licking a long stripe up the side of my neck.

“Murder is a turn-on then?” I chuckle.

“Evidently so,” he says as he nibbles at my earlobe.

“It’s the same with me, I think,” I tell him, my hands groping at his backside, “You have blood soaked into your cuffs.”

“Well, whatever shall we do about our predicament?” he leans in to kiss me but waits for my answer.

“Is this... what you want?” I ask as I drape my arms around his neck.

“Of course it’s what I want,” he rolls his eyes, “I’ve  _ wanted _ it. You’ve just been stubborn.”

“I’ve been… stubborn?”

“Well, you’ve not been ready,” his hands settle on my hips as he guides me towards the couch. He kisses my hand and winks, “And, if you're still not ready, we don’t have to.”

I open my mouth to speak but find that I have no words. My mind is reeling as I go over the last several months and look back at how we’ve been and how foolish I had been acting. 

“I seem to have made some… miscalculations.”

“About?” he humors me as he kneels down to make a fire. It’s not normally a job he enjoys doing, but the sun is setting and he seems keen to pamper me at the moment. He rolls up his sleeves and tightens his garters. I lick my lips at how his skin is slightly discolored from his blood-saturated sleeves. It’s a filthy thought, but I find myself wanting to taste it.

“I may have assumed some things,” I swallow.

“You think?” Oswald says, smirking over his shoulder. He stokes the fire one last time before standing and turning towards me. I clear my throat and shimmy further into the couch.

He has that eager look in his eye and never takes them off of me as he loosens his tie and stalks forward, predatory and wild. All I can do is breathe it in, licking my lips in anticipation of what’s to come. It’s all so reminiscent of that first time all those years ago. When he pinned me to a wall and devoured me whole. There had been no words between us, only longing stares and grasping hands.

Oswald looms over me— pinning me between his chest and the couch— and explores my body with his hands. They're greedy and his eyes are so hungry. I'm too lost in my own want to think clearly. The tips of his fingers glide across the satin of my blood-stained blouse, grazing my nipples and pulling a moan from my lips. 

The sound makes him growl and before I've had the opportunity to shift myself on the velvet couch, he's pulling his knee towards my groin to brace himself on the wooden frame and is groping at my thighs with both of his hands.

He rucks up the fabric of my skirt and adds more pressure to each caress as he inches his way higher and higher. Suddenly, my ears are ringing and I want to pull him back into that comfortable boundary. But he senses it at the same time that I do and tuts his disapproval.

"Hush now," he says, gently touching my lips before pulling me into a reassuring kiss, "I haven't been fooled by your diversions, Lilian."

"You haven't complained," I smile against his mouth. But he's right. It’s not something I can avoid forever. Not if we’re going to rock back into that space we shared before. That space we both valued and cherished and  _ wanted. _

He all but collapses on top of me and I can feel the hard line of his cock against my inner thigh. My insides flutter as heat radiates between my legs. I gasp as his teeth slide across my throat, distracting me for a microsecond as one hand tugs my hair while the other slides closer to my arousal. He pulls back then, looking me in the eyes and pleading. I can’t help but give him what he wants. What  _ I  _ want.

“Please, Oswald,” I beg,  _ “Touch me.” _

He teases the line of my panties, barely dipping the tips of his fingers underneath. I squirm and pout as he smirks deliciously. It makes my whole body shiver knowing how much he enjoys this. His eyes have that impish glow to them and it takes a considerable amount of concentration not to come right then and there.

Oswald kisses the corner of my mouth before he slowly— reverently— slides my underwear down my legs.

A voice inside me screams, begs me to stop before we’ve even really begun.

_ “But how will I know?”  _ I cry inside my mind.

_ ….How will I know? _

Oswald is admiring my legs, that much hasn’t changed. The skin is smooth and supple in all the right places and it’s certainly a feature of my form that I’ve always had confidence in. He seems to gravitate more to my thighs recently, choosing to glide his fingers across the skin and watching it ripple under his touch.

Two of his fingers slide between my legs and flutter against my folds. I gasp at the suddenness, but my body grinds against the contact. My hips stutter and my cheeks fill with warmth when I realize how wet I am just from being held and touched by him.

“Is that a good gasp or a bad gasp?” Oswald asks, his movements halting.

“Good gasp,” I confirm with a nod, “I wasn’t expecting it, is all.”

“Should I slow down?” he asks, gulping and squirming in impatience. He certainly doesn’t  _ want _ to go slow, so why should I torture him?

“No, it’s fine,” I tell him, “Honestly, this is just as much of a mystery to me as it is to you.”

“In that case,” he hums, shifting so he can observe me more thoroughly, one of my legs now positioned over his shoulder, “I think I’ll take my time unwrapping you.”

His words go straight to my groin and I can’t help the embarrassing sound I make. I bury my face in the crook of my arm and try to focus on the feeling of his hands caressing me and loving me. Emboldened, he gently presses his thumb against my clit and waits. It’s sensitive and makes my skin feel like it’s on fire.

Getting comfortable, he turns his hand, sliding his fingers underneath. Not inside, but gently and pleasantly  _ there. _ He adds more pressure at his thumb and begins to move in tiny circles, like he’s trying to unravel my threads.

“Circles are good then?” he smirks.

“You have to ask?” I moan, arching my back when his movements increase in speed.

He’s worked me up to the point that even the slightest touch against my skin feels like pins and needles. He stops just before I lose myself and turns his head to kiss at the sensitive spot just behind my knee.

His mouth travels south, kissing me all the way, and lowers himself to the floor. I want to offer him a pillow for his knee, but the kiss he places just below my navel makes me mute.

The feeling of his tongue is so much more to handle now. It’s an all-encompassing heat, like I’m melting against his mouth. I look down at him and am momentarily startled when our eyes meet. He gently shifts my hips to get a better angle and now I can see where his tongue is connected to my body. Before I know it, tears are rolling down my cheeks.

“Have you changed your mind, my love?” he pulls away.

“No... No, I just need a minute. It’s all so much,” I sniffle, “You don’t have to—”

“—Stop,” he growls, “Do not speak another word on it. I won’t hear it.”

My eyes drift away momentarily towards the mirror near the corner. Earlier that day, I had avoided it like the plague but now I’m curious.

I strip Oswald of his clothes, leaving him bare and beautiful for me to admire. He’s all sharp angles and shimmering scars. He tosses the remnants of his ruined suit, my blouse, and my skirt to the floor. Oswald notices my concentration on our reflection and locks eyes with me in the mirror. He smiles. Oswald seems to be admiring how we look together just as much as I am.

Never breaking eye contact, he guides his cock towards my entrance, teasing my clit with his head. I gasp as sparks cloud my vision and heat fills my limbs. My head lulls back against the arm of the couch when I feel him slowly enter me. I can barely breathe.

“Lily?” Oswald calls my name, pulling me out of my distant cloud, and brushes an errant curl from my face, “Is this still alright?”

“Yes!” I giggle, grinding my hips and forcing him deeper, “Don’t stop.”

He smiles before kissing me fiercely, rocking into me and sending sparks up my spine. It’s a different sensation. Not necessarily more intense than it had been previously, but different enough that I got lost in cataloging the different parts— the muscles moving in tandem that I never knew I had, the position of Oswald’s hips, the wet slide of his cock, the press of his belly against my clit.

_ “There,”  _ I say, feeling the pressure building in my core when he slams into that perfect spot over and over again. He grips me tightly by the hips and pulls me close to meet his thrusts. A whimper crawls out of my throat and that only encourages him further. He slides his hand between us, rubbing gently at my clit with his thumb in calculated circles. I moan.  _ He _ moans.

I look into his eyes— seafoam green and icy blue— and memorize his expression. He’s looking at me just as intensely, his fingers maintaining pressure against my sensitive nerves while the other hand fondles my breast. I feel his cock throbbing inside me, pleasured by  _ me. _ He’s hot and flustered because of  _ my _ body.

_ “Faster,”  _ I mewl desperately and rake my nails down his sides. I wonder if I still have blood caked under them.

Oswald has given me many gifts over the years— A home, new clothes, the Ferrari, flowers just because, dinner dates with a side helping of murder. He’s given me my freedom and his forgiveness. But  _ this…  _ The way he kisses me and loves my body and  _ sees _ me is the greatest gift by far.

He pulls away and I groan at the absence, writhing on the couch and pouting. Oswald rolls us over, pulls me on top of him, and repositions my hips.

“Go as fast as you need,” he says, clearly out of breath.

Bracing myself with one hand on the arm of the couch and the other on his chest, I work us back into a rhythm. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of me and his hands are grasping and pulling at every inch of my skin. He holds my breasts, flicks one of my nipples with his index finger and  _ yes _ , I see blood there. Blood and gunpowder.

I’m so unbearably  _ close _ but if I lose concentration for even a moment it slips away from me. He bucks his hips and I can feel his muscles tensing. Oswald’s eyes are pinched closed and his moans are getting louder and more unhinged. 

“I love you!” he screams and snaps his hips. He repeats his mantra over and over, his thrusts getting more out of sync, and suddenly all I can feel is heat as he spills out into my insides. The combination of his words and his climax sends me over the edge. My legs are shaking as I fail to catch myself. He laughs and wraps his arms around me.

We clean up briefly before he goes to make another pot of tea. Ginger, I assume, given how much we’d been screaming. He tosses me one of my silk robes— mint green with pastel butterflies— and I sprawl out on the couch.

When I open my eyes again, Oswald is staring at me from the doorway. He’s leaning against the entrance with a cup of tea and looks lost in thought.

“Oswald?” I yawn, “Are you alright?”

“Quite,” he smiles, sipping his tea, “I’m just admiring you.”

I look down at my naked form, the thin silk leaves little to the imagination. Most of my skin is exposed but I no longer feel any need to hide it. With a catlike stretch, I pull myself back into a sitting position so he can join me. He goes back into the kitchen to fetch the tray and brings in a pot, some crystallized ginger, and my own teacup.

“Thank you,” I tell him and pull him into a kiss. It’s warm and inviting, more complete. I feel him whimper and pull away to stare at him. He sniffles. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since you kissed me like this?” he cries, pulling me closer like I’m a stubborn balloon that might float away.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me anymore,” he admits, “I was so afraid you were drifting away from me… but I would have let you go if that was what you needed.”

“No,” I say, kissing him deeply and nuzzle against his nose, “I’m not going anywhere, Oswald.”

“I know that now,” he smiles.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel like that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he holds my face, smiling, “Just be you. And let me love you.”

I kiss him again just for good measure. Our tongues dance happily with one another. He tastes like ginger and acceptance.

“I hope this has reassured you that I am still very much attracted to you,” he shies away as he continues. Though, his bashfulness is almost comical given the state of our clothes, “Did it… are you…. Was it pleasurable for you?”

“Very much so yes,” I tell him, my eyes still bleary from the exertion. 

“Oh, thank God!” Oswald buries his nose into the crook of my neck, “I was so scared.”

“Scared?”

“I was trying to put on a brave face because I didn’t want to make you worried but this whole process has been terrifying for me.”

“...Oh,” I frown.

“No! No no no, not in the way you think,” he peppers my face in kisses, “Surgery is just scary. I was so worried that something would go wrong or that you wouldn’t be...  _ satisfied  _ by me anymore.”

“Well, rest assured that I did enjoy it. Very much.”

“Good,” he licks his lips, “Because I plan on doing it again.”

“And it was good for you? You weren’t… um… uncomfortable?”

“Of course not. Why would I be?” he quirks an eyebrow, goading me into my usual answer. I button my lip instead. “Lily, darling,  _ love of my life,  _ stop assuming things. I love you. I never really saw myself with  _ anyone,  _ any gender. I’ve had a few passing thoughts over the years but only with people I shared a bond with. People I connected with... But I have never felt as connected to anyone as I do you. My heart  _ always _ comes back to you.” Oswald laces his fingers through my own and pulls my knuckles to his lips, “Lily, I have something to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s not something you or I have brought up in quite some time, but I want to ask you again,” he rummages through the pocket of his robe and produces a green velvet box. He opens it and inside is a green sapphire flanked by diamonds. “Will you marry me?”

“Oswald,  _ it’s beautiful.” _ The stone glimmers in the firelight. The ring itself is delicate, feminine, with a rock of enviable size.

“I neglected to get you one before. My proposal had been so spontaneous and I hadn’t had the chance to give it to you,” he fidgets, “When we called it off, I kept it. I wanted to give it to you at the right time.”

“I’ll never take it off,” I slide it onto my finger.

“You haven’t answered my question—”

“—Yes!” I smile, giddy, “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the finale! This chapter had a bit of angst, but the ending is nothing but tooth-rotting fluff and wedding bells.


End file.
